


Labyrinth

by rose_coloured



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Jehanparnasse Week, M/M, Magic, jehanparnasse2017, the parisian catacombs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 01:50:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12546120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rose_coloured/pseuds/rose_coloured
Summary: The Parisian Catacombs were the underworld in its most literal way. Dangerous, dark and full of secrets. Still, he felt a longing for this danger, when he stepped into them one night. For the first time in his life, he got lost.





	Labyrinth

A cold wind swept through the young man's hair and made him blink repeatedly as he hurried through the dark streets.  
He knew Paris by heart, especially in the dark of the night, this was his home at all. But he very much resented the weather right now. It felt like a storm was coming. The harsh wind only got stronger with every step he took. That was probably just his imagination.

Tonight he wasn't sure what had made him leave the warmth of his dingy flat to stroll through the city by himself. He rarely left the house on his own. His neighborhood wasn't the safest, to begin with. 

But he had felt a restlessness in his bones, something had been pulling him out into the storm. And now here he was, pulling his dark coat closer around his body as the cold threatened to creep through it. He hadn't noticed where his feet were leading him, while he had just followed this pulling in the back of his mind. 

When he finally, after a last look over his shoulder, slipped through a small gap between the two fences, which had been set up long ago to keep criminals and drunk teenagers away, he at least had found a destination. Or so it seemed.  
He almost slipped on his way down to the small hole in the ground.  
The had built a useless fence, but nobody had ever cared to just block the entrance to this place.  
Where he was heading tonight was the most literal definition of the underworld he was said to be so well acquainted with. 

The Parisian Catacombs were a place where the rules of the overground world didn't count. Here he had spent most of his teen years, taking first steps into this world of darkness that had welcomed him as one of its children. But he had also been exploring, more than most people had ever dared to.  
He knew those winding hallways like the back of his hand. As he stepped into it, he felt like home. Still, the restlessness had not vanished, not the opposite was the case. He felt it much stronger now. And it was accompanied by a faint smell of lavender. Without hesitation, the young man started walking to where he was pulled by the smell, only the sound of his feet on the ground echoing from the walls. Without a second thought, he walked into the labyrinth, that lay under Paris‘ streets.

Down here people were truly all the same. It was dangerous down here, but the danger was a beautiful one. In his explorations he had met criminals, eyeing him with suspicion and daring him to open his mouth, just so they could silence him. He had seen dreamlike art, which was way to moving to ever be depicted for the masses, who would never understand it. Down here the living and the dead were so close, skulls decorating the altar of some religious groups, who worshipped gods and spirits.  
Legend has it the magic folk also had found their place in the catacombs. But he wasn’t sure if there was anything true about it. People said the magic folk was living among them, concealing their powers and using it for good. Other insisted they were pure evil, cursing the innocent. He was sure, if they cursed anyone, that person would deserve it.  
Back then when he had been a child, wide-eyed and with a love for wonders, he had loved to hear the stories. Wizards, who could make every wrong right and faeries, with whom you should never dance.  
But he had grown up, the world had made sure he would do so very early. The stories were just that.  
Stupid little tales to keep children hoping. But there was no hope, the world around them had become more and more corrupt. And dark. So he had stepped into that darkness and had become a part of it.

The smell of lavender had become stronger and he had been following it, without realizing where he was going. When he accidentally kicked against a pebble he was roused from his day-dream like state and panic started to rise in him. In the soft shine of his flashlight, he saw unfamiliar walls around him. This part was completely unknown to him. And more importantly: He had been to every hallway of this part oft he catacombs, so how long had he been walking? An hour? Two? Maybe forever.  
Suddenly his flashlight began to flicker. Once, twice. A cold shudder ran down his spine. The world around him went completely dark. He was lost, lost in the place, where nobody would ever find him.  
The scent of lavender hit his nose again and he gritted his teeth. Well, he could as well try and follow it. So he reached out until the tips of his fingers touched the cold and rough stone walls and he kept on walking further into the darkness.  
Turning left the hallway got narrow and he was glad, that his slender figure fit through it. Still, it made his breathing more rapid, being saved, being found was impossible. The path began to zig zag. And he knew the maps of the catacombs well enough, that he could be sure there had been nothing like this. He turned left. Turned right. Turned left.  
Right.  
Left.  
Right.  
Left.  
He stumbled. The path was guiding him downwards. 

And then he turned one more time and soft light was hitting his eyes. He stepped out oft he darkness and into a chamber.  
In front of him, in the warm shimmer of what must be hundreds of candles, sat a figure hunched over a large table. Their face was hidden under the hood of a dark cloak, embroidered with dark red roses and golden leaves. Around them were flowering over flowers, some of them in small pots, while others were hanging from the ceiling already dried.  
Roses in many colors were placed in a vase on another desk. And yes there was lavender, which must have caused the smell. Some of it was hanging from the far back wall of the room. Others were thoughtlessly piled on the desk. But there were also herbs, he was sure he had never in his life seen before. Weirdly shaped roots, which shimmered with a bronze color and leaves as bigger than his head with violet lines all over. The person in front of him hummed quietly a melody, while they too another flower and placed it on a skull. It wasn’t the first he noticed. Others were placed on surfaces all over the room. Flowers and vines seemingly growing from them.  
He was sure he had heard this tune before. A long time ago.  
A small fire was crackling in a silver bowl on the ground. The flame was bright green, and there was no smoke. It just burned, flames licking up into the warm air in the room.  
It was almost like… No.

He should go. He was very sure he should turn around and run. 

But he was…  
„Lost.“, the person in front of him whispered. „You are lost, aren’t you?“  
He took a sharp breath. Yeah well running away seemed no longer to be an option.  
„I guess so.“, his voice was quiet, he didn’t dare to speak up. And wasn’t that a first, him lost for words.  
He looked at the person, unable to move. He didn’t want to move, he wanted to see them, wanted to know what this was. Wanted to know if he was to die down here.  
„Well, I guess that might be my fault and I am sorry.“, they whispered again. And then they turned around, putting down the hood and he was staring into dark brown eyes, shimmering in the soft light.

The person in front of him now smiled broadly. „I am really sorry.“, they said, their voice still small, as they took off the black coat they had been wearing. Where the flame enlightened their face, it seemed like freckles were dancing on their cheeks. Ginger hair flowed over their shoulder in soft waves. He noticed the flowers woven into it. Small golden blossoms glittered in the shine oft he fire, connected by dark green tendrils. They held out their hand.  
„I am Jehan.“  
„Montparnasse.“, he answered and took the other man’s hand. When he let his gaze fall onto his arm he gasped in surprise. Where you would usually see a person’s veins shimmer lightly through the thin skin on their wrist, golden lies were painted onto the skin. From them, flowers emanated. The orange, red and violet blossoms were spread all over his arms. They had flowers all over their body, it seemed. Before he could even think about it he let his finger trail over the golden veins on their wrist. They weren’t painted on, it seemed. He glanced at Jehan, who just nodded at him and so he traced the golden lines on the warm skin until he felt them shiver. Montparnasse flinched, but they grabbed his hand and held it firmly in theirs.  
„As I said I am sorry I brought you here. I didn’t want to lure you into the darkness and I don’t know how I did it. Yet I have gotten the feeling you feel quite at home down here, Montparnasse.“ The way they said his name, made Montparnasse’s heart ache unfamiliarly.  
In a good way.  
„Why am I here? “, he asked, his voice cracking. Jehan gave him a broad smile.  
„Well, I guess you have been searching for me?“, they asked studying his face.  
„How should I have been searching for you? I don’t even know who you are.“ Or what you are.  
„I don’t know.“ Another smile as Jehan tucked a strand of their ginger hair behind their ear. „But you had this ache in your chest and a need to wander. So that’s what you did.” Not a question, but a statement. “So that’s what I did.”  
„But who are you?“  
„Do you want to know who I am, or rather what I am? As I told you, my name is Jehan.“  
„Who. I guess it’s part of your personality.“, Montparnasse never wanted to let go of this hand that was holding his right now. “I want to know about you.”  
“What do you think, who I am?”  
_“You are what a poem would be if it were to be turned into a human."_ , Montparnasse answered, without thinking about it.  
Because, yes that what they looked like.  
The beauty of words formed into a body.  
Their beauty to see and touch and hear.

Jehan chuckled lightly. “I like this.” Then they gestured for Montparnasse to sit down, noticing too late that there was no chair. They started humming that tune again and with a small wave of his hand, tendrils broke through the stone floor, starting to grow together. Within the blink of an eye, they had turned into a chair. “Sit.”, they said.  
“You think I must be magician, don’t you?”, Jehan asked playing with the tips of his hair.  
“Well, you have to admit, what you just did was quite magical,” Montparnasse answered, still a bit unsure if the tendrils were able to hold his weight.  
“Ah yes. But it’s not so easy. You have a very limited understanding of magic. Not just you, in particular, humans as w whole. I don’t do blood magic, I don’t even do written magic. What you could call my magic, is a just a very close relationship to nature. It’s a symbiotic relationship. I am part of nature, just as everybody is. But nature is also a part of me.”, he pointed to the flowers on his arms. “We are one and just as I can use nature for my magic, it can use me. And I guess that’s why it had guided you down here. There is something bigger, you might not understand. Well, I don’t even understand it right now, but it is there and you are a part of it.” They let their gaze wander over Montparnasse. “You knew that tune, didn’t you?”  
“How do you?”  
“It’s not mind-reading I am just very aware of many things.”  
Montparnasse scoffed. They were extremely vague, but still. Somehow, he trusted them.  
“You knew that tune and you should not know it. Humans don’t know it. So know I am asking who you are.”, Jehan’s face had gotten closer to his, they were looking at him and through him at the same time. The air around them got heavy with the scent of lavender.  
“I don’t know what you want me to say. There’s no magic in me.”, he wanted to turn away, but at the same time, he wanted to get lost in those brown eyes.  
Jehan lifted Their hand and traced the side of his face, let soft fingertips wander over sharp cheekbones and red lips. They left trails of gold on fair skin, making it glow in the soft light.  
“I believe you. You don’t know, but oh there is so much to know. That’s why you were brought here. Let me be your guide in this world.”

Montparnasse nodded, speechless. Inside him, something has sparked.  
There was more to all of this. It felt like dark waves crashing against a shore of pristine white stone.  
The wind howling that tune of his childhood. Marble in his bones and a storm in his blood. T  
he thunder-like sound of thousands of hooves trampling on the shore. He felt it vibrating in his chest.

_“You are what the deepest ocean would look like if it had been turned into a human.”_

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my contribution to Jehanparnasse Week 2017. The theme for day one was Magic and so yeah this is it.  
> I have wanted to write something about those two in the Parisian Catacombs for a very long time, but I have never found something that would fit into the atmosphere I wanted to create, but now I did. 
> 
> I really hope you liked it.


End file.
